


Between the pages

by serenitysolstice



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, idk i haven't decided yet, maybe some angst?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2020-07-09 12:40:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19887985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenitysolstice/pseuds/serenitysolstice
Summary: A collection of one shots about the moments that *don't* happen the way Anne describes in her diary. May or may not be ooc, may or may not be historically accurate, may or may not be my own ideas.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter comes from a post by itsalwayssunnyinhalifax on tumblr. Y'all should go follow them, they're hilarious!  
> \----------------------------------------------  
> Marian Lister: Ann, would you do me the honour of becoming my sister-in-law?  
> Anne Lister: Did you just propose to Ann for me?  
> Marian Lister: Someone had to do it!  
> \----------------------------------------------

_Ann, would you do me the_ _honour of becoming my sister-in-law? - M_

"Anne?" She was gently shaken awake by a hand on her shoulder. "Anne, what does this mean?" The bright screen of a phone was thrust before her eyes, sending a sharp pain through her head. She found her mouth felt like carpet. _Good night then._

"God, Ann, give me a second. What time is it?"

"It's almost eight, I'm sorry, I know you like to get up early, but you seemed to need the sleep." She let Ann carry on while her eyes adjusted to the blinding light in front of her. She forced her eyes to focus.

"What the - when did she send this?"

"It says just gone one. I didn't see - my phone was up here. Anne, what does she mean?"

"Well, it's obviously just a joke, poking fun that we aren't engaged or anything like that, I suppose." Anne settled back into her pillow and closed her eyes against her pounding headache.

"Is it - is it odd, do you think? That we haven't, I mean?" Anne finally looked towards her girlfriend, and noted suddenly the tear streaks on her cheeks. She rolled onto her side immediately.

"Oh, oh my dear Ann, of course not! There's nothing wrong with that at all! It isn't for her, or for Catherine or Eliza or whoever else may have put her up to it, it's not for any of them to decide! This is for you, and for me, and that's the end of it."

"Yes but, but don't you want to marry me? Am I...oh god, I'm not, am I? I didn't want to say in case you thought me pushing, but I'm not and that's why we aren't already...and now even they're starting to notice, oh my I've been so foolish." The change from sad to anxious happened in the time it took Anne's heart to beat. She clung to Ann's cheeks, kissing quickly every inch of skin that had been touched by a tear.

"God Ann, didn't you know I've wanted little else these past two years? To marry you, to be yours fully, and have you be mine in the same way."

"Then why - _hic_ \- haven't we?" Anne's heart shattered as the blonde spoke. She rolled over, ignoring how her stomach roiled in protest, and reached for the drawer in her bedside table. She pulled out, and gave to Ann, a small black box.

"I bought it on a whim just over two years ago, exactly a week after we met. I wanted to wait for the perfect moment, but I suppose as long as you smile, this is as perfect as any other." Ann opened the box, smiling through her tears, a blend of confused joy mixing with the fear that clung still to her cheeks. "Ann Walker, in about ten minutes I'm going to go downstairs and kill my sister for every second of this morning so far." Ann laughed, and brought up a trembling hand to stroke her cheek softly. "But before I make myself an only child, I need you to know that I love you. I have never loved quite like I love you. I can make you so happy, and if I spend all day every day for the rest of our lives making you smile, then it'll be the best life I could possibly have. Will you marry me?" Ann kissed her, fingers winding in untidy hair, a kiss that was more desperation than love, or passion.

"Of course I'll marry you Anne. Even if Marian had to propose to me on your behalf." She let out a giggle, and Anne followed, surging forwards to kiss her again.

"I suppose I should go and give her a right bollocking." Ann nodded, pressing another kiss to her lips.

"Give her hell, love."

* * *

"Look, Anne, I don't know what to tell you except I'm sorry!" Anne put down the half filled wine glass on the kitchen counter, the clink made Marian flinch. "It wasn't like I meant it!" Marian had her arms crossed, and didn't look to be assisting in cleaning up the aftermath of what had been a...rather excessive Thursday night dinner party. Anne sighed.

"How the hell did you even get into my phone? And whose idea was it - I'm almost positive it wasn't entirely your doing." She began shovelling plates into the binbag she held in one hand, clearing them completely before stacking the china high by the sink. Marian hadn't moved.

"It, uhm, it doesn't lock properly. When you're running a slide show."

"A slide sh-" Anne stopped mid sentence, her eyes closing. "Marian. Did I get out the holiday photos? You know I'm not to get out the holiday photos. God, how much did we drink?"

"You personally drank a full bottle of single malt, Aunt, Ann, Catherine and I," Anne shot her sister a fierce glare that went largely ignored. "must have gotten through at least three bottles of prosecco, Eliza had most of the Moscato. I think William drank the least, only four or five glasses of Merlot. Oh, and Father, he only had a brandy."

"Bloody hell." She breathed, letting her eyes linger on the dozens of glasses that littered the counter already. "No wonder I feel like hell."

"Yes, well, anyway. I got on your phone, me and Catherine had some...lovely...photos of you and Ann that should really be moved to another folder," Anne winced, and felt her cheeks warm. "Thank you for that, by the way, and well. We had a little bit of a chat about how the two of you have been together for nearly two years?! How are you not married yet?!"

"Why did you even send it through my phone? You have her number too!" They were shouting now, she realized with a jolt. The whole house would be up sooner than she'd like. Especially given Ann's anxieties on waking up to such a text.

"We were already there, honestly we were both so far gone that we let our common sense falter. I am truly sorry that we distressed Ann, we weren't thinking clearly."

"I should hope you'll apologise to her in person? You know how her confidence plummets at the first inkling of trouble - I spent much of the morning convincing her that I wasn't going to leave her because we aren't married yet."

"Of course. I'll make amends as best I can, and Catherine too. Neither of us meant to upset you or Ann." Anne grabbed her phone off the side, dropping the rubbish bag in the middle of the room.

"Finish up in here, would you? I've a fiance to console." Marian's jaw dropped.

"Wait, what? What do you mean?" But Anne had already left the room, grinning at the spark that had started it all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possibly my favourite thing about their relationship is this little interaction:
> 
> "So, how did you two meet?"  
> Ann: Oh, well, that's a long and complicated story-"  
> Anne: No it isn't. You chased me down the road as a teenager and asked me to tea.  
> Ann: *blushes*

She was amazed that her career had taken off as well as it had. In the space of a couple of months, Ann had gone from a secondary school teacher, part-time painter, to a full-time fine artist. She missed her classes, of course - finding a student who could truly appreciate art as a discipline was always a delight, but as she stood outside her first gallery opening, she couldn't bring herself to regret the decision. Her girlfriend was positively vibrating beside her.

"I can't believe it's taken this long to finally get yourself into a proper gallery, not all of that co-op nonsense Sheffield wanted to set up for you. I mean, an university not having its own gallery for its students is just ridiculous, I've never-" Ann rolled her eyes fondly.

"Yes, I know dear. You don't need to go on about it." She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, before opening the door. Her mouth went dry; her artwork littered the walls of the room, her hours of labour hung perfectly, lakes and forests interspersed with the occasional person. In the centre of the feature wall, the first wall one saw when they entered the hall, was a portrait of her brother. The work of several months, the three-foot high oil painting had filled a void left when John died just over a year ago. There was a catharsis in painting him that she'd never felt before, breaking and repairing the heartache every other day, and seeing it now on the wall filled her eyes with tears once more. The title card of the painting sat proudly next to the work: _memoriam perdidi. Memories lost. _Ann felt bile in the back of her throat, then felt a warm hand on her back.

"He'd be so proud, you know." Anne's voice was quiet, but in the silence of the gallery the words engulfed her. She sniffed back a sob, then nodded firmly.

"I know." A quick glance at the rest of the paintings saw them all properly hung and situated well. The room was still bright despite the rapidly setting sun, and she concluded that she could add nothing more to the layout of her work. Mr Washington, the gallery director, was truly skilled. "Right, come on. We've still got to pour and lay out the wine, and we open in an hour."

  
"Ann! Are you okay?" She stared down at her white dress, now marred with the wet stain of white wine across her midriff. The bottle rolled along the wooden floor of the staff room - thankfully completely intact - now empty, as Ann wore the last two or so glasses.

"I just....I slipped." She felt the tears hot in her eyes, tried to force them back, and swallowed the lump in her throat. "I...I don't have anything else to-"

"Right." Anne replied, already bent to retrieve the bottle. "I'll finish up in here, you run quickly to the Red Cross around the corner - they open late and should have something suitable."

"But- Anne, I just-" Dark eyes met her own, Anne's smile slowing her heartrate a touch.

"It happens. It doesn't matter, so long as you can find a change of clothes." Ann paused just a second to watch her girlfriend, then spun on a heel and walked quickly to the door.

  
Ann burst through the door out of breath and already wearing the baby blue summer dress she'd bought. Eight pairs of eyes turned to stare at her red, panting face. She was late. She caught her girlfriend's eye, and offered a helpless smile to the friends and family already milling around the artwork. She hurried over to Anne and a man she didn't recognise.

"And she painted _Hills at Dawn_ in - oh, here she comes now. Ann, quickly, come chat to this lovely gentleman." She snagged Anne's glass of wine and took a long sip, dropping into the chair beside her.

"Ah, that's better." She laughed, then looked at the man fully. "I don't believe we've been introduced? Ann Walker, artist." She put her hand forwards with a smile. The man frowned back, but took her hand and shook it.

"Yes, I...know who you are. That's why I'm here - my name's James Holt, I'm a journalist, looking for the next up and coming artists in London." Ann's mouth went dry. She'd screwed up again, oh god, of course someone at her gallery opening would know why they were there. Anne's strong hand came to rest on her forearm.

"I was just explaining to Mr Holt where some of your earlier works came from, since this is the first time they've been displayed."

"Yes, Miss Lister has been most accomodating. She seems to know your artwork well, Miss Walker." Ann laughed, and glanced back at Anne.

"I should hope so, we've known each other over a decade!" His eyebrows shot up, his pen ready at a notebook on his knee.

"Really? How did the two of you meet?"

"Well," Ann began, her thoughts turning to exactly how much of their relationship she should divulge. "That's a rather...long story."

"No it's not." Anne cut in, leaning towards Mr Holt. "You were nineteen, I was twenty five. You raced down the highstreet and asked if I'd like to join you for coffee." She chuckled, Mr Holt joined in, smiling.

"Well, I knew of you casually through my aunt, I wouldn't just chase after a stranger and ask them out!" She replied defensively, though she grinned too. "It wasn't really a date though," She added to James after a second. "She made that quite clear, she refused any serious romantic attachment until I finished university."

"Yes, and look at how well that went. Eight years later and going strong." Anne said, standing suddenly. "I must apologise for taking up so much of your time, Mr Holt. I shall leave you to finish your interview with Ann in peace." Ann watched her girlfriend approach a group of people, and insert herself into the conversation with ease.

"So you and Miss Lister are-" Holt didn't appear to know how to finish that sentence; his hands gesticulated in front of his chest, and one eyebrow raised.

"Girlfriends, yes. She's not my muse or anything like that though," She said hastily, on seeing Holt's mouth open again. "I don't like painting people as a rule, it's far too easy to offend."

"No, I can certainly see that. What is it about landscapes that capture you, then? I assume your home in Yorkshire has some baring on that?" Ann answered all of Mr Holt's questions with ease - after long conversations with her university tutor about 'why you paint' and 'what does your art say about you', she found an actual interview much easier in comparison. When she could finally get away, and start making the rounds of guests, Anne had found her way back to her side.

"I wish you'd stop telling people that story." She muttered later, in between repeating the same couple of sentences about _The Flatlands_ , a painting she'd done while the pair of them took a holiday to Norfolk.

"Which story?" Anne replied with a grin. "Do you mean how you painted _The Flatlands_ on a Thursday morning with a pounding hangover?"

"No!" Ann laughed, slapping her girlfriend's arm. "Although also yes, please stop that as well. No, I mean how I asked you out, nine or so years ago."

"Oh, how you saw me just coming out of that used bookshop, and raced down the road after me and, completely out of breath, tried to ask me for coffee?"

"Yes. Please stop telling people that exact story."

"Why? I thought it was sweet." They paused the conversation long enough to change the picture they stood in front of, and to chat to Ann's cousin about Hills at Dawn.

"It's embarrassing. How...desperate I was to know you."

"I can't help how charming I was back then." Anne grinned. "Besides, it is sweet. How in love with me you were." Ann poked her tongue between her teeth.

"You're the absolute worst, I hope you know that. I'm never bringing you to one of these again."

"However would you have managed, without me here to greet the guests on your behalf, stop you from flapping about a little spilled wine, and embarras you at your very first interview?"

"Very well I should think - after five minutes of crying in the bathroom I'd have redone my makeup and dazzled everyone." Ann grinned up at her girlfriend. "I suppose I'll have to make another round in a minute. I wish I knew the protocol for things like this." Anne offered her elbow towards the blonde, who took it with a smile.

"That will just come with practice, my dear. Shall we?"


	3. Girl talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ann gets another love letter, gets some advice from her sister and...accidentally comes out?

"Hey, Annie, you've got a letter." Elizabeth knocked on her door, then immediately pushed it open. "I don't recognise the handwriting; it just says 'Ann' on the front." Ann sighed, and took it. Her sister lingered at her door until Ann motioned her into the room with a wave of her hand. She happily plonked down onto her bed.

"If its another one of Thomas' love letters, I'm gonna need you to hold my hair back while I'm over the toilet." Ann muttered, sliding open the top. She ignored Elizabeth's laugh, and unfolded the creased A4 paper. Sure enough, the messy scrawl littered with crossed-out words spoke of 'undying devotion' and 'a love that burns brighter than the sun'. Ann wanted to hit something.

"God, how can anyone make it all the way to university with a complete lack of self-awareness?" She asked, screwing the paper into a fist. "He's disgusting."

"He's certainly shameless, I'll give you that." Elizabeth said with a sigh. "But surely he can't really be that bad. Haven't you told him you aren't interested?" Ann groaned, throwing her desk chair backwards. 

"Oh, I have. Every time he buys me coffee, or asks me out, or brings me flowers to a lecture and I have to sit in a full room with a bouquet of flowers sat next to me for two hours. I've already had to have my supervisor ban him from my art exhibits!"

"Jesus, yeah that sounds off. Would you like me to talk to him? I could give him a real good piece of my mind." Ann shrugged, spinning aimlessly on her chair. 

"No, that wouldn't help. I just wish I could make him leave me alone."

"Well, is there anyone else who's caught your eye? Maybe he'll back off if you're already in a relationship?" Ann hesitated, and stopped her swishing. "There is, isn't there! Ooh, what's he like, who is he?" 

"There isn't much to tell - frankly I don't think they know I exist. We don't have any classes together, but we're both behind the scenes for the theatre group. They're smart, and so kind and patient when they need to be, and so handsome! God, I can't even see them without feeling a little bit sick." Ann glanced at her sister, her cheeks burning. "Anyway, I can't say two sentences without stuttering so it's not like that's an option." Elizabeth smiled fondly at her, eyes bright.

"You've got it bad then." She replied simply. Ann nodded, and sighed. "Isn't this your first crush, Annie? Or was there someone before, that you just never mentioned?"

"No, I've never felt like this. I don't know what to do when I'm around...them." She faltered slightly; Ann prayed her sister wouldn't notice. 

"Well, a good starting point would be actually talking to them. Get to know what they like, who they are. Ask them to coffee, or grab lunch or something - it's not 'technically' a date that way, keep things casual." Ann nodded, though her mind raced: invite Anne Lister for coffee? God, she'd have to be brave or mad to try something like that. And what would they talk about? Ann was positive she could in no way interest a woman like that, so intense and so, so clever. 

"I...could try, I suppose." Ann conceded with a shrug. "But I don't want to be like Thomas, I don't want to come across as annoying, or foolish, or pathetic."

"No, you don't. So, if she says no, you accept no and move on. At least you'll have an answer."

"I guess you're right. If she doesn't know I exist right now, I could always fade into obscurity again if everything goes horribly wrong." Elizabeth grinned at her.

"Exactly. But give her that chance."

"Okay, yeah. I will." The moment her brain caught up to her mouth, she paled. "I- I mean, uhh." Her sister just laughed.

"Annie, breathe. It's okay. I'm pretty sure we've all known you're gay for years - remember when you were ten, and that Lister woman from Shibden bumped into you in Town, and you spent days afterwards talking about her?"

"What? No! Do you mean Anne Lister?" 

"I think so? The elder one, must be five years older than me?" Ann groaned, her head dropping against the back of her chair.

"Oh God, oh no. Do you think she remembers?"

"What? That nine years ago she bumped into a blonde child? Of course not! Why?" Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. "Hold on. It's not...you're not talking about her, are you?" 

"Um...maybe?" Ann didn't anticipate the pillow that hit her in the face.

"Ann! You have got to talk to her - at least try to make friends with her! Eliza loves her company, she says all the time what a wonderful person Anne Lister is! Go for it Annie, she'll love you. Or," Elizabeth added after a moment, half smirking. "She'll grow to."

"I don't...are you sure? I mean, I don't want to seem...overly eager. Or make a fool of myself. Even more than I did back then. God, what if she does remember, what if she thinks I'm silly, or stupid?"

"Ann, listen, breathe. She's not some great legendary hero like in one of your stories - she's a person. Human. Fallible. Just talk to her. The worst she can do is avoid talking to you again, but if she's anything like I've heard she is, she won't ever do that. I mean," Elizabeth grinned, and leaned towards Ann, voice lowered. "If Eliza, of all people, can sing her praises, then she can't be that bad." Ann laughed, then shrugged.

"You know what, I'm not going to argue with that."

"So...you'll talk to her?" 

"I'll talk to her."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long wait for another chapter! I've kind of left the Gentleman Jack fandom for the time being, but I found this sitting in my practice folder from months ago, and thought I'd just shove it here. Enjoy!

Ann swears she's a witch.

Obviously she can't tell anyone that. Though it had been illegal to try and convict people of witchcraft for almost a hundred years, the practice has not entirely died out. She knows she isn't supposed to know of that kind of talk, her tribe would have a fit at some of the things she's learned since spending time with Anne Lister, but she knows it happens. Women are driven from their homes, are murdered in their beds, are drowned and burned and hanged. Ann isn't sure she believes in their crimes, or their supposed powers, but she isn't sure she doesn't. So, no. She can't tell anyone that she suspects Anne Lister is a witch.

Not that she'd want to.

If she'd known what magic could feel like, she would have been more inclined to side with witches during the tales spun in the final pages of the newspapers. Before she knew the breathlessness, the hot, tight coil ready to spring in the pit of her stomach. Before she knew enchantment in brown eyes and a sharp tongue. Before the mornings spent in hushed laughter, a hand curled against a steadily slowing heart beat, and a warm, soft torso pressed against her spine. Ann would have sought out witchcraft for herself years ago if she knew it could be anything like this. Anne's breath in her ear, Anne's moans echoing against the apex of her thighs, the hot flush when Anne lowers her voice in _that_ way. Anne, Anne, Anne. Always Anne, it's enough to drive anyone mad.

Ann swears she's a witch. Because there isn't another explaination for how Ann feels when she's nearby.


End file.
